


In which the world has ended but not like the show said

by ariathel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, au kinda, female!Sam, werewolf!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:14:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1264306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariathel/pseuds/ariathel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world ended?  Sam's a werewolf, though it's only hinted at in the short bit I've written.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which the world has ended but not like the show said

**Author's Note:**

> Another one I'll never finish, I honestly have no clue where this came from or what it is.

AN: I’m using the idea of “recharging” from Oomphalos’ Black Swans. I’m also using the alpha/beta/omega thing from the Teen Wolf fandom, though this doesn’t contain any elements of that world. Also, werewolves in this fic are like the Teen Wolf ones – capable of losing themselves to the wolf, but in control (as opposed to Harry Potter werewolves, or even SPN’s own brand of them).

 

     They called it the apocalypse, because there was no other term for it. Calling it End of the world didn’t fit – the world was going along, just fine. Calling it the end of humanity didn’t work, either, because there were still humans. And so apocalypse fit the best. But it wasn’t. At 19, Sam’s dream of a normal life was crushed when the majority of humanity up and disappeared. After a year of searching, she found Dean. Two years later, Castiel found them.

     Because Sam believes in patterns, the ending of the sixth year since the apocalypse, she’s waiting.

 

     Sam drummed her fingers on her knee, her left hand idly steadying the steering wheel. Next to her, Castiel watched out the window, light and shadows chasing each other across his face in rapid succession.

     “Eyes on the road, Sammy,” Dean said from the back seat, sprawled as much as he could while clutching his blood-soaked leg. Sam rolled her eyes, but returned her gaze to the empty stretch.

     Miles and miles could speed by under their wheels without any signs of human life. They preferred it that way.

     Dean groaned behind her, and she itched to hit the accelerator, crank the speed up, to fly their way back to the cabin. Back to provisions, back to safety, back _home_. She drummed her fingers on her knees, the _smell_ of Dean’s blood making her head ache.

     “ _This_ is why we need to take supplies with us,” she finally snapped into the rear view mirror. She could _feel_ Dean’s eye roll, directed at her back. Castiel turned, sorrow etched on his face.

     “I wish I could be of more use,” he murmured, his inflection the same, always the same. Emotions were as foreign to the angel as civilization was to the Winchester siblings. He learned to use his words to express what his tone would not.

     This one, _regret, sorrow, guilt_ -

     Castiel’s eyes bored into the side of her head, and she wrinkled her nose, hitting the accelerator past her level of comfort. They had plenty of gas, plenty more back at the cabin. They had an angel of the Lord on their side. All Castiel needed was to go back to their home, to soak up the Earth, for a while.

     Broken down cars littered the sides of the highway. They had long since been stripped of anything useful, gasoline, metal, electronics, _seats_. Everything was fair game these days. Sam didn’t slow down. They had all they needed.

     The drive was overgrown and well hidden, visible only if you slowed down enough to see the gap in the trees that stretched off the highway at such a sharp angle. Sam had _encouraged_ the grass to grow there.

     Castiel visibly perked up as they navigated the path. Sam watched him out of the corner of her eye, and when he flickered in place for a moment she let out a huff of relief.  The angel reached back, covering Dean’s hand with his own. She looked away, wincing when Dean sucked in a breath, before letting it whistle back out through his teeth.

     By the time they pulled up to the house, Dean was sitting up, his jeans the only thing soaked in blood. Castiel disappeared, because he’d never been taught proper manners.

     Sam let Dean go first, hanging back to watch her brother. He shook his leg every other step, as if testing out the newly knitted together skin, but Castiel’s healing job held, like they knew it would. She leaned against the hood of the car, idly pulling out her handgun and checking the magazine, before sliding it back into place, tucking the safety on and the muzzle into the back of her pants. It was a comforting weight, reminding her at all times to be wary of her surroundings.

     She lifted her head, scenting the air. It smelled like forest, sunlight, and rain. They would set the barrels and tarps out tonight, collect as much as they could. The garden could use it, too.

     “Sammy, get in here,” Dean shouted. “Quit being a freak.”

     She could hear his laughter across the yard, the kiss he stole from Castiel when he thought she wasn’t in hearing range, the whispers she couldn’t help but listen in on.

_Demons-_

_Later. I don’t want to think about demons, not tonight._

_But, Dean. How much longer will we be able to-_

_Damnit, Cas, not tonight._

     Dean needed to unwind after a hunt, always had. Just because the jobs weren’t as frequent as they’d been growing up, didn’t mean they weren’t needed.

     A handful of angels were stranded on Earth when Heaven’s gates slammed shut for good. They chose to remain, Castiel explained. Some demons stuck behind, as well, though with less savory intentions.

     The rest of humanity, they didn’t understand. The survivors they’d come across, huddled around each other in tight, fearful communities, they didn’t _want_ to know. It was war; it was Heaven and Hell, using the Earth as their battlefield, both clamoring to destroy each other.

 

 

     Sam had been at school when the reports first rolled in. Some kind of war in Africa – she’d huddled with Jess over Chinese take-out, and watched the newscasters talk about it, dissecting footage. Of course, there had been concern, panic even – but in sunny California, wrapped up in Stanford’s grueling pre-law degree, Africa was far away.


End file.
